


Slices of Monogamy

by Butterfly_Beat



Series: Bound [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_Beat/pseuds/Butterfly_Beat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways the word gets out.  Sequel to "Bound & Sealed"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slices of Monogamy

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to "Bound &amp; Sealed", this story is also canon-divergent as of "End of Days" (1x13). Many thanks to Saki for her beta-reading!

| Official Change-of-Address | Andy | The Harpers | The Coopers | Rhys |

* * *

\- - - - -  
Official Change-of-Address  
\- - - - -

 

When Gwen moved in with Owen, it was for a few weeks - a month at the outside. There was a big difference between living together and just shagging regularly and exclusively. Somehow, a few weeks turned into a few months. It wasn't that she didn't want to get her own flat, but working for Torchwood made routine tasks like meeting an estate agent tricky on the best of days. Gwen went through two estate agents and a dozen scheduled and then cancelled appointments before she gave up the endeavour as more effort than it was worth. She and Owen had managed three months without bloodshed, well, without _serious_ bloodshed; they could manage a bit longer. It wasn't like they were ever home, anyway.

Unfortunately, hand in hand with long-term living accommodations came paperwork. A year and change with Torchwood had proved to Gwen that she could forget fear, bureaucracy was the mind-killer. There were forms for _everything_, and Ianto had a tendency to glare if things that required hard copy weren't submitted in triplicate. All of this went a long way toward explaining why Gwen was carrying a box of pastries as she opened the door to the tourist office on a rainy Thursday in November.

"Ianto?"

There was a muffled thump from the back office, followed by a strained "just a moment." She set the box down on the counter, and pulled her jacket off as she waited for him to emerge. He did, moments later, looking a bit worse for the wear. He shrugged in response to her unspoken query. "There was a small electrical fire last week, after you'd gone home for the evening; it fused the wiring behind the desk. It's become a bit of a side project."

Gwen raised her eyebrows, but let it go. She leaned casually against the counter. "So, Ianto, I need some help with a bit of paperwork..." She focused her attention on a bit of tape that had been left behind by an old flyer.

"Change of residence?"

She nodded, still picking at the tape. For selotape, it was surprisingly stubborn. "Can't keep having my mail sent here forever."

A hand covered hers, and she looked up in surprise. "It's already been filed."

She blinked, confused. "But I hadn't found a flat."

Ianto shrugged. "Your current arrangements seemed to be working out. I thought it prudent to file the paperwork myself, to insure that it was correctly processed."

She blushed softly. "I suppose everyone knows, then."

Ianto gave her a sympathetic look, and released her hand as he opened the box from the bakery and inspected the contents. "Blueberry and poppyseed muffins, assorted Danish, and... a cinnamon roll? This can't all be for the paperwork."

"I had been _hoping_ for discretion. But if that's pointless, then I want the raspberry croissant back. I haven't had one of those in _ages_."

"You know how secrets are about this place." He turned the box to face her, and waited as she removed the pastry in question. "And I doubt anyone's forgotten your encounter with the-"

"Right, I've got to be getting down. Meeting with Jack and all. Enjoy your muffins!" Gwen was through the door to the back hallways before he could thank her for breakfast.

He turned the box toward the stuffed _crysilphan_ that sat next to the pile of 'See Historic Cardiff by Foot' maps. It had washed through the rift a few weeks earlier; while the debate was still out on whether it had been a children's toy or a hunting trophy, it had become the unofficial mascot of the tourism office. "Oh, well. Would you like one?"

The crysilphan didn't respond, and with a shrug Ianto removed the cinnamon roll and set it on a napkin. "Suit yourself."

 

\- - - - -  
Andy  
\- - - - -

 

There was nothing better than a few pints at the pub after a truly awful day at work. Andy was a firm believer in that concept, even when he wasn't willing to take his new partner with him. The kid was so green he squeaked, and Andy had been taking more than his fair share of the shit-work lately due to Jones' inexperience. So there Andy found himself, sitting in the booth he had once shared with Gwen, back when they'd been partners as opposed to acquaintances. He watched the patrons come and go, relaxing into the familiar rhythm of a neighbourhood pub. At least, he did until one patron in particular caught his attention.

Gwen made her way to the bar with a purpose, and started in on her pint as soon as the bartender set it in front of her. Andy blinked, surprised to see her in a well-known plod gathering place; ever since she'd transferred to spec ops, she'd been too good for the rest of them. CSI Cardiff, indeed. She didn't look so high and mighty any more, though. She looked tired, everything from her posture to the circles under her eyes attesting to the fact that spec ops was not agreeing with her. He debated casually wandering over, saying "Hi" and asking what was wrong, but he wasn't sure she'd tell him. Was more worried what he'd do if she _did_; there were stories that floated around the precinct about coppers who poked their noses in where they weren't welcome. People who asked too many questions about Torchwood and spec ops. People like Gwen, who transferred out and just _vanished_.

As she finished her pint and ordered a second, Andy saw a man saunter over and pull himself up onto the stool beside her. Even from a few metres away, Andy could tell that the bloke had tossed back a few too many. Andy could also tell that the man wasn't taking no for an answer. He was about to step in, because Gwen had looked like a stiff wind could knock her down when she'd come in, and wasn't looking much better for the beer, but she handled it herself before he had the chance.

Setting her glass on the bar, she turned to her would-be suitor with a frown. "Let me be clear. I didn't catch your name. I don't care to. I'm married. Now bugger _off_."

Andy sat back in the booth, stunned at her rebuff. Police grapevine or not, this was the first he'd heard of Gwen getting married, and he couldn't believe he wouldn't have gotten a note in the post. Hell, he'd run into Rhys just a few weeks back, and the man had said nothing about marriage. In fact, he'd avoided talking about Gwen at all, and returned to his friends rather abruptly. Then Andy realized what she was doing, and almost kicked himself. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book; invent a boyfriend, or a husband, and act uninterested until the loser finds something or someone more interesting. Unfortunately, this particular loser didn't appear to be buying her story.

"I don't believe you. If you're married, where's your ring? I think you just don't want to talk to me, pretty lady. Well that's too bad, because I want to talk to _you_." The man spoke with the assuredness of the totally pissed, and Andy resisted the urge to groan. There was no reasoning with them when they hit that stage, and she should know that. They'd dealt with enough drunks in their time as partners. He again debated stepping in, perhaps playing the fictional husband, but common sense stopped him. Gwen liked to handle things her own way, always had. As evidenced by the fact that she was currently digging through her purse for God only knew what.

A moment later, she found whatever it was, and raised a triumphant hand. "A-ha! I knew it was in here." She set her purse back down, and as she turned Andy could make out the sparkle of a gemstone. With a flourish, she slid what he now realized was a ring onto her left ring finger. Andy blinked, because that looked far too nice to be costume, and Gwen had never shown any interest in rings before. He'd asked her, once, and she'd confessed that she found them more a hassle than anything else, always catching on things. Her voice brought him back to the conversation element of the exchange, and he was again glad that he was sitting as close to the bar as he was. "Now, are you going to go away, or do you really want to be sitting there when my husband shows up? Because I've had a shit day, so I could do with the cheap entertainment, but I don't think you'd like it."

The drunk blinked at her, staring at the ring for a long moment before muttering something under his breath and heading to bother a woman sitting on the far end of the bar. With a sigh, Gwen tossed back the rest of her pint and waved the bartender over for a third. Andy frowned, because that was heavy drinking for Gwen, or at least it had been, and it was still early. He took another look at her, seeing again the sheer exhaustion in the way she was leaning against the bar, chin propped up on her hand and eyes closed. The Gwen he'd known couldn't lie that smoothly, not even close. He knew she'd lied to Rhys about work, but that was different. She'd always had to work up to it, walk herself through the lie a few times before she could tell it straight. But then, the Gwen he'd known had also never looked that tired, not even after a full night on the streets after a demonstration gone wrong.

A moment later, a man entered the bar and headed straight for Gwen. Andy frowned; the man was familiar, but at the same time Andy _knew_ they'd never been introduced. As Andy tried to puzzle it out, the man walked up behind Gwen and slid his arms around her waist from behind. To Andy's surprise, she leaned back without bothering to open her eyes. "That was fast."

"Jack let me off after I checked Ianto's stitches; he was worried about you, too."

"You're still a bastard."

He laughed gently, pressing his face into the side of her neck and breathing deeply in a way that spoke of long familiarity. "Tell me something I don't know, love."

"Can't. You _know_ that."

"Right, that. Can't forget about that." He eased back far enough to press a kiss to her hair, and reached around to snag her beer, taking a long pull. "Come on, love. Let's go home."

She straightened, clearly prepared to argue the point. "But-"

The man withdrew his arms, voice becoming sharper, harsher. "Come on, Gwen. You get pissed out of your mind and they'll still be dead." She seemed to deflate at his words, and didn't argue when he helped her to stand. "Let's go remember what it's like to be alive, yeah? And if you still want to get pissed, then it's a lot shorter trip to bed if you pass out." She muttered something in response, but didn't fight the arm he slid around her waist to stabilize her.

As the two headed out, Andy remembered where he'd seen the man before. He was "Torchwood", had been part of the group that rainy night which started Gwen's withdrawal. Andy wondered just what Gwen was playing at, what _they_ were playing at, and if she even knew any more.

 

\- - - - -  
The Harpers  
\- - - - -

 

A few weeks after he and Gwen moved into the larger flat, Owen was forced to concede the inevitable; their situation had a definite air of permanence. There was just something about having both names on a mortgage that screamed "commitment". Even a mortgage that they'd had no intention of getting except it was easier than moving into another building when theirs went co-op. That being said, it left him with the unenviable task of breaking the news to his family. Gathering up his resolve, Owen took the smart and sensible approach; he called while his mother was at church, and left a message on the answering machine. Short, sweet, and containing all of the relevant information, he was off the phone in just under two minutes. Mission accomplished, he crossed it off his "to do" list and forgot all about it when he and Gwen got called into work early the next morning.

If only it were that simple.

Five days and six hours after he left the initial message, Owen picked up the phone to a surprisingly familiar "You bastard!"

"James?"

"Of course it's James. Who _else_ is Mum going to call when you're being a twat?"

"She said that?"

"No, but that's not the point. What the Hell have you done this time?"

"Um..." Any response Owen had been planning to make was cut off by the sound of the front door, and it's accompanying "I'm home." Putting a hand over the mouthpiece, he shouted around the corner. "I'm in the lounge." He could hear James' eyebrows raise on the other end of the line, but it was a matter of the lesser of two evils. It wasn't like he planned to hide his new legal situation; he'd just planned to, well, gloss over it a bit.

Gwen proved singularly unhelpful in that regard. "Well get your lazy arse _off_ the bleeding couch and help me with this. The box popped open on the way up, and the curry's eating through the bag. I don't care if we're never home, I refuse to spend the next month with my carpet smelling like old curry and stale yoghurt."

Counting discretion as the better part of valour, and far more likely to get him a happy ending to the evening, Owen stood and slowly made his way toward Gwen's voice, wincing as his muscles protested the exertion. He _knew_ he shouldn't have bothered sitting down. "James, I'm going to have to ring you back-"

"Don't you dare, Owen Harper. The last time you said that it was six months before you called, and _oh_, did I hear about it from Mum. I can wait a minute or two. I've been around a lot longer than whatever bird you've brought home for the night."

He opened his mouth, either to defend Gwen's honour or possibly just to tell his brother to sod off, but Gwen beat him to the punch. "Owen!" He felt the spike in her anxiety level before he heard the shout, and was already clipping the phone to his back pocket and out of the way as he rounded the corner.

"I've got it." He grasped the bag in question, jostling it to re-settle the contents. As he walked toward the kitchen, he poked about to see what she'd picked up for dinner. "What's this? Bought out the whole bloody store, did you?"

She set a second bag on the counter next to him, a sheepish expression on her face. "Well, Jack gave us the weekend off, and I was thinking..."

"Mmm." He turned, pinning her against the counter. "I like the way you think, Gwen Cooper." He leaned over, just barely brushing his lips against the rise of her cheekbone, her lips, her jaw. Her hands fisted in his shirt, gathering it up so as to slip underneath as she pulled him in for a proper kiss. When their mouths met, however, she paused, and pulled away. He frowned at the sudden withdrawal, and tried to guide her back in, but she shook her head.

"Owen."

"Yes?"

"Why is the extension clipped to your trousers?"

"Oh, fuck." He reached down and pulled the handset around so he could see it, and sure enough, the light was still blinking. He cautiously put it to his ear. "James?"

Luckily, his brother sounded more amused than annoyed. "Still here."

At Gwen's questioning look, he mouthed 'my brother'. Her eyes widened. "Do you want me to...?"

"Don't bother, won't be long. Why don't you get changed, yeah?" She nodded, and turned toward the bedroom. "And Gwen? Something easy access. I'm going to need to check your dressings before we eat."

"Is that what you call it nowadays?"

"Oh, shut up."

"No, really, I'm curious. Did Mum send you to medical school just so you could pick up cute patients? Because I've always wondered."

No longer in the mood for joking around, Owen decided to just kill two birds with one stone. "She's my wife, you tosser." There was something deeply satisfying about the dead silence from James' end of the line.

"That's not funny, Owen."

"Wasn't meant to be. Look, it's been just _lovely_ talking to you, but I've got to go make sure Gwen hasn't pulled her stitches out. Tell Mum whatever you want."

"But, what? How? Wait, _why?_"

"Goodbye, James." Owen clicked the off button, and returned the phone to its cradle, taking a moment to turn off the ringer as well. Twenty-four hours of peace; was it really so much to ask?

* * *

Following the unexpected conversation with his brother, Owen's chat with his Mum was rather anticlimactic. He'd expected dramatics of some variety, especially after his brother's disbelief, but apparently a few days to process helped matters a lot. Instead of a lecture, he got an inquisition. She didn't even bother with the pleasantries.

"Your brother tells me that you got married."

"Yes. I did call about that. Nobody home, so I left a message."

"You called on _Sunday morning_. Of course nobody was home."

"Oi, not my fault I work odd hours. Job is what it is, yeah?"

"You know my feelings on your job, and that's not the point. So, you've settled down?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far..."

"How long."

Owen winced. "A few months?"

"What's her name? It is a woman, isn't it? James said "married", and I presumed...Not that there's anything _wrong_ with liking blokes, but-"

"Yes, Mum. She's a she. Her name's Gwen."

"Well? What's she like? Where did you meet her?"

"To be honest, she's a bit of a pain in the ass, but we get on well enough. We work together."

"Good. That's good, you need someone like that. Is she a medical examiner, too?"

"Copper."

"Hm. Well, I look forward to meeting her."

"I'm not sure that's going to-"

"Don't start with me, young man. I expect to see you both home for Christmas."

"But, I-"

"No buts. I don't care if the world is ending, you, and this 'Gwen', will be home for Christmas."

Owen didn't even bother to continue the argument. He'd find an excuse when the time came, but that was neither here nor there.

 

\- - - - -  
The Coopers  
\- - - - -

 

Anwen Cooper had never pretended to be an organized woman, but even she was appalled when she went hunting for the phone bill. It was, to quote her husband, "in your inbox." That covered quite a bit more ground than she had expected. Literally. The decorative box that sat on 'her' desk was buried under a stack of envelops and monthlies that had apparently fallen over at some point and never been righted. So this was where all of her mail had been vanishing to.

In amongst the bills, she found a letter from one of her daughters, postmarked three months earlier. Oops. She'd been meaning to call Gwen, too; things had just gotten a bit hectic, what with Sioned's engagement, and it had slipped her mind. She'd left a message or two on Gwen's mobile; she was sure of it. She opened the letter, and found a new address and telephone number, along with a note that she and Rhys had fallen out. Damn. She'd been hoping for good things out of that boy; Gwen had really settled down with him, and Anwen had started to hope for grandchildren. Well, three months had passed, maybe they'd cooled off and reconciled. She could hope.

On that cheerful note, she decided that there was no time like the present. She'd left the apparent mess with Rhys to stew for far too long, and she should make sure Gwen knew about her sister's engagement and cleared her schedule for the wedding. Anwen dialled the number in the card, and waited impatiently as it rang through to an answering machine. An answering machine with a man's voice. A man who wasn't Rhys.

"You've reached 2070 5555. Unless the world's ending, leave a message. If it is, call the mobile."

She hung up, and stared at the phone for a moment before she decided that she'd dialled wrong. That was it. Except attempts two and three brought the same result. She almost left a message, but as far as she knew it was a wrong number. She didn't like the idea of leaving personal information for a stranger, even if it was just "Call me back."

Frustrated, Anwen pulled out her address book and paged through until she found Gwen's partner, Andy. They'd met a few times since he'd been assigned to her daughter, and he'd seemed like a nice boy. He'd tell her what was going on.

* * *

Andy was not as helpful as Anwen had hoped. In fact, he was downright _un_helpful. No, he didn't work with Gwen any more; she'd transferred a year and a half ago. No, he didn't know whom she was seeing now; they didn't talk much, and he rarely saw her. Yes, he could check the phone number for her on the reverse directory if it would ease her concerns; it was listed to a "Harper, O &amp; G" at the address Gwen had included in her letter. And no, he hadn't talked to Rhys recently, nor did he know who O. Harper was. No, Gwen's personal business was her own, and he certainly hadn't been invited to any wedding. When he suggested that Anwen talk to Gwen's spec ops friends for the second time, she'd bid him goodnight.

Anwen Cooper was not amused. After a cup of tea to settle her thoughts, she picked up the phone again and tried the number Gwen had provided one last time. A man answered. The same man whose voice was on the answering machine. "Hullo."

"I'm sorry, I've been trying to reach Gwen Cooper, and she gave me this number. I'm-"

He didn't give her a chance to explain. "Hang on a tic." There was a rustling sound, and then his voice was speaking, although apparently not to her. "Oi, Gwen! Phone!" Anwen could make out bits and pieces of the conversation on the other end of the line, and listened carefully now that she knew she had the right number after all. "No, I don't know. Do I look like the bloody tea-boy? No, I don't know where the other extension went. Well, I'm not the one who used it last, am I? Check the bedroom. And just who the hell have you been giving out the home phone to?"

There was a clicking sound, and then a familiar voice came on the line. "No one. Can't even remember it half the bloody time. I've got it." Anwen breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the unknown man clicked off. He sounded rather rough around the edges; big-city British, in fact. Not the kind of man she'd have thought her daughter would be interested in. Not the kind of man who would be good for her daughter. "Hello?"

"Hello, Gwen."

"Mam?" Mrs. Cooper heard a choking sound in the background, and the unnamed man's voice was loud, if unintelligible, on Gwen's end of the line. "Look, don't mind Owen. He's just being a bastard." There was a thump, followed by a cry of pain in the background, and then the man - Owen - vanished from earshot. "It's been a while, Mam. It's, um, good to talk to you."

"It's good to talk to you too, sweetheart. I'm sorry about not calling before; your father has been sorting my mail again..."

 

\- - - - -  
Rhys  
\- - - - -

 

When Gwen ran into Rhys, it wasn't planned, it wasn't anticipated, and it certainly wasn't what she might have expected had she considered that it would someday happen. She'd planned on it never happening, and left it at that. Unfortunately, in shoving Rhys to the back corners of her mind, Gwen wasn't paying attention when her mother mentioned that he'd bought a townhouse with his new wife. She certainly hadn't connected the comment about 'nice little suburb' with the neighbourhood where Owen's brother lived. If she had, she might have at least made contingency plans. As it was, she found herself forcing a smile and giving the vaguest answers she could drum up about her life. Around the time of the second awkward pause, the door of the house she was standing in front of - James' house - opened, and her brother-in-law frowned at Rhys. "This bloke bothering you, Gwen?"

"No, James, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"James, _I'm fine_. Why don't you go grab Erin for me, make sure she's ready to go."

James cast a sceptical look at Rhys, but vanished back into the house. "Is that your husband?"

She shot him an incredulous look. "James? I think his wife might take offence. Never mind he's a bit old for me." She followed Rhys' gaze to her left hand, and realized the source of confusion. "He's my brother-in-law."

"Oh, right. Look, it's none of my business, anyway. You, uh, you look good, Gwen."

"Thanks." She smiled politely at the compliment, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "So, um, what about you? Married with kids and an Irish Setter?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but paused, narrowing his eyes at her in suspicion. "How do you know that?"

She shrugged, and looked away. "Looked you up a few years ago, just to see how you were getting on." _And then promptly forgot any relevant details, or I wouldn't **be** in this mess._ "You were a good guy, Rhys. You deserved someone who could give you what you wanted. I couldn't, and work _had_ to come first."

"Maybe, but it shouldn't have ended like that. I certainly didn't _want_ it to end like that."

"Yeah, well I didn't either." The martyrdom in his voice pissed her off. Whatever she'd done, and she'd admit she'd done plenty, she hadn't done it _in their flat_. She didn't care if she was supposed to have been gone, it was the principle of the thing. "I know you don't think I did, but I _tried_ to make things work. God, if you had seen even a tiny bit of what I see, you'd never sleep at night. But that's not how it works, and I didn't want it to be your problem. I kept it separate, and maybe that was a mistake, but I was trying to _protect_ you. And then one day it's just _gone_. Two years down the drain, and I didn't even deserve a fucking _memo?_"

"Don't you even _think_ about blaming me for what happened, Gwen. You were no saint. You think I don't _know_ who that bloke was that came in with you that night? Owen, right? Owen fucking Harper. God, seven years on and I can still hear you say his name. You said it was over, and I believed you. But then it started again, didn't it? You, gone all hours, never sleeping even when you're home. Do you know how long it had been since we'd had sex when you left, Gwen? Do you even know? _Four months_. Was it because of the scars? Because I saw those. The ones I wasn't supposed to ask about. Was it because of that tosser? Or maybe it was Jack, hm? Pretty fit for a boss, and you sure knew how to come running when he called."

"Don't you _dare_." Gwen didn't even realize she'd moved until the slap landed, and was glad she'd had enough self-control to make sure she didn't do any serious damage. She should have realized this would happen. It was why she'd avoided running into Rhys after she moved out. He'd been silent while Yvonne had helped her pack her things, even though she could see the emotions which roiled behind his eyes. They'd never had that needed blow-out, and now apparently they were. On her brother-in-law's walk. In front of everyone and their mother, six years after the fact. And apparently the retcon had worn off at some point in there. God, she wanted a drink.

James cleared his throat, and they both turned to see him approaching, a sleepy dark-haired toddler in his arms. Gwen stepped away from Rhys, taking her daughter and settling her on her hip. Luckily, Erin was used to her parents rather colourful styles of interaction, and didn't appear concerned about the disagreement. James looked like he wanted to say something, but Gwen shook her head and adjusted her grip on the quiet child. "Don't, James. It's not your fight."

"You're family, Gwen. Erin's my niece. That makes this my business." James folded his arms, standing on the grass beside the two former lovers. "If Owen ever talked to you like that, I'd knock him into next week, and you know it. I certainly won't allow it from a stranger." He glared at Rhys, the expression one of the few that he shared with his brother.

"Don't bother, I'm leaving." Rhys shot an annoyed glance at James before once more turning his attention to Gwen. His expression softened, bitterness replacing outright anger. "You've got your life, Gwen Cooper, and I've got mine. No reason to change something that's worked for seven years. This time, though, I'd like to remember the fight in the morning. If that's not too much trouble?"

"You'll remember." She almost didn't recognize her own voice, quiet and rough as she watched Rhys turn and walk out of her life for good. She tightened her grip on Erin, reminded of how easily even the most important things could slip away. Something cold landed on her forehead, and she looked up, realizing that the storm clouds which had been threatening all afternoon had finally followed through on their promise. She blinked, returning to the here and now. "God, James. I'm _so_ sorry. You shouldn't have had to see that. Rhys and I, well, it's been a long time. Lots of old wounds, and all that." She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as her heart rate returned to normal from the confrontation. "Thank you for watching Erin today. I know it was short notice, but we're having some problems with the new kid, and we're all pulling extra shifts."

"I've told you before, Gwen, I'm glad to help. There are plenty of times I _can't_ take her. I don't mind doing so when I can. Neither does Janet."

"Still. Thank you." She glanced away, a bit unnerved by the sincerity in his expression. It always made her feel bad, that he and his wife handled so much of Erin's care, but it was better than the alternative. So much better. That brought her thoughts back to Owen, and the sinking suspicion that he'd be calling in a moment to ask if she was all right. "I should go. It's going to start pissing down, soon, and I promised I'd pick up dinner on the way home."

"Well, then get on. Don't want either of you catching cold. My brother's an ME, not a paediatrician." He waved her off good-naturedly, and she found herself smiling in reply as she headed back to the car.

"Thanks, James."

"Hey, that's what family's for, yeah?"

"Yeah."

~ Finis ~


End file.
